Courage
by logophilia
Summary: After being involved in a disastrous accident, Blaine wakes up at the hospital from a coma. The worst part? He can't remember who Kurt is.
1. Hold My Hand

_Chapter published: 05/03/11_

_Chapter updated: 04/04/11_

A/N: Hello, people. :)

This idea just randomly came to me the other day. This takes place some time after Regionals, though I'm not exactly sure where it'll follow canon up to. Also, I've never been to a hospital (apart from when I was born) so my description of the hospital room is kind of derived from my imagination and various movies. Which is probably not all that accurate. So I apologise for that.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

**NOTE:** this is the second version of this chapter. When I originally posted this, I didn't really like it so I've rewritten it and added in some things.

* * *

**COURAGE, CHAPTER ONE: HOLD MY HAND**

* * *

_"Excuse me, could I ask you a question? I-I'm new here."_

_The first time I saw Kurt, he was standing on a winding marble staircase, stopping me as I walked by. He stood out from all the other boys, wearing a back coat in a sea of red-trimmed navy blazers. I looked at him for a moment, extended a hand for him to shake, and said, "My name's Blaine."_

_He smiled shyly. "Kurt."_

* * *

**[Kurt]**

The room has four bleak walls and a white tiled floor. Cupboards, benches and filing cabinets line the perimeter of the room, and in the centre is a hospital bed surrounded by medical equipment.

I walk over to a beige-coloured chair and sit down. This dull, cluttered room's almost familiar to me now, because I've been visiting almost daily for the past two weeks and four days. Leaning over the bed, I gingerly take the patient's cold hand.

"Blaine?" I whisper.

Silence.

His usually gelled curls are hopelessly unruly, and his face wears an expressionless mask. Hooked onto an IV and some kind of machine, he lies there, unmoving, except for the slight rise and fall of his chest. Although he's always seemed so strong to me, right now, Blaine just looks vulnerable.

"I miss you," I say, feeling an unwelcome sting in my eyes. The nurses say he can't hear me, because he's comatose, but I talk anyway. Because what if I never get the chance to talk to him again? He can't hear me, but he's still alive. Lately, I've been reading the notebook he showed me about a month ago, because when I read it I can hear his voice. Reading it's painful but it reminds me that he's still here and that he can still wake up and that everything we did was real.

"When my dad was in hospital, he woke up when I held his hand," I tell him numbly, tears sliding down my cheeks. "I'll hold your hand, Blaine. And I won't ever let go."

* * *

_"So what's exactly going on?" inquired Kurt, looking around at the swarm of people._

_"The Warblers," I answered. "Every now and then they throw an impromptu performance in the senior commons. Tends to shut the school down for a while."_

_"So, wait, the glee club here is actually kind of cool?"_

_"The Warblers are like... rockstars."_

_Kurt raised a sceptical eyebrow._

_Taking his hand, I said, "Come on. I know a shortcut."_

* * *

**[Blaine]**

The first thing I feel is a warm hand around mine. Soft sheets surround me and the sunlight shines on my face. The smells of antiseptics and detergents assault my nose. There's a faint beeping sound, far away voices and somebody humming softly beside me.

For a while, I just listen to the humming, my brain stuck in a place that's neither here nor there. The humming has a soft, sweet melody to it and, though I don't remember what the song's called, I'm sure I recognise it from somewhere.

When I finally open my eyes, I see a boy. He has immaculate brown hair, pale skin and is wearing a uniform. The humming ceases immediately.

We stare at each other, his beautiful eyes widening. I don't know what to think. It feels like I know him, but I can't remember anything about him.

Racking my brains for answers, my heart begins to race and my breath becomes shallow. _I can't remember anything,_ I realise, fear flooding into my veins. My mind feels hazy and heavy and nothing makes sense.

Where am I? What is this small room? And who is this boy who's holding my hand?

The boy speaks in a quiet voice, a shocked expression on his face. "Blaine?"

_Is he talking to me?_

He opens his mouth to speak again. "Blaine?" he repeats, voice stronger. And then his face breaks out into the most beautiful smile I've ever seen.

I just continue to stare at him.

Because when he smiles, it makes me feel complete and whole and undamaged. When he smiles, everything bad thing in the world just disappears. It's like we're the only two people in the whole universe and everything is absolutely perfect. When he smiles, I feel warm and safe and happy. It's a smile that says, "Everything is going to be okay." And it's a smile that makes me believe it.

But when I don't respond, his smile falters. "Blaine? What's wrong?" he asks for the third time, licking his lips, his face morphing into an expression that speaks of grief and dread. "Can—can you remember who I am? Kurt Hummel."

The sound of the name triggers something inside of me, and I suddenly remember the first time we met. I remember him standing on the staircase, talking to me. I remember running across the rooms, holding his hand. And I remember singing something to him.

But I also remember something else.

We were crawling, side by side, our hands locked together in a tight grasp. There was smoke everywhere, filling my nose and mouth and lungs, obscuring my vision. There were people everywhere, pushing and screaming and just needing to get out and Kurt was in front of me, crawling, and I remember looking up and seeing a light.

"Kurt?" I whisper. "Who are you?"

* * *

**[Kurt]**

I don't know what to think.

There's this numb feeling spreading from my fingers and toes and this empty feeling in my chest.

Blaine doesn't know me.

Blaine doesn't remember me.

After everything we've done, Blaine doesn't even know who I am.

I look into his eyes. His eyebrows are furrowed in confusion and he looks like he's on the verge of tears. But he's fighting it, trying to stay strong, as always.

_It's not his fault_, I have to tell myself.

If anything, it's mine.

"What happened?" Blaine asks in a hoarse voice. "Why am I... here?"

It's a while before I can respond. I don't really know what to say and I'm afraid that if I open my mouth, I'll start to cry. What Blaine doesn't need now is someone weak and useless. Which is everything that I am.

_Courage,_ I think.

"Blaine," I begin, taking a deep breath. "There was an... accident."

He nods.

"We were at the Lima Bean when there was a fire." My eyes begin to water, and the rest of the words come out in a rush. "Everyone was pushing, everyone was shoving and everyone was panicking because we all needed to get out but it was crowded and the building was unsteady because of the fire and..." I swallow unsteadily and lick my lips. "And then you realised that we—well, I—was right beneath this light, and it was one of those lights that are covered with one of those translucent bowl things and it was wobbling and then it fell and you pushed me out of the way and it... it fell onto y-you."

For the billionth time, I'm wishing that he didn't sacrifice himself for me. I'm wishing that he didn't notice, that that light-bowl-thing had fallen onto me, that I'm the one lying on the bed, that I'm the one who was in a coma for two weeks and four days, the person who doesn't remember a thing since who knows when, because I can't stand to see him like that. Because, I realise, it was my fault, it was my own stupid fault that it had happened. And Blaine is suffering for it.

The tears are falling freely out of my eyes right now and I bite my lips to keep the sobs at bay. I stand up. Even though I should stay a bit longer, even though I should try to help him some more or just talk to him, I can't. I just can't.

I want to tell Blaine I'm sorry and that it's all my fault and that I'm just so worthless and weak but all I can choke out is a "Bye, Blaine."

The look he gives me tears my heart in two, all over again.

And suddenly, the room is behind me and I'm sprawled out on the floor, the cold tiles pressing into my cheek. Automatically, my hands reach into my pockets to take the picture out. My heart hurts, my head hurts, and even though I should be worrying about Blaine, everything just hurts.

After some time just curled up on the floor, I finally look at the photo in my trembling hands. My eyes are so full of tears, the picture is just a blur of colours, but I've seen it so many times, I know every detail of the photo without even looking at it. When all hope seems lost, when there's nothing I can do, when the world just seems to be slowly crumbling away, I look at the picture, and it usually comforts me. But now, all it does is make me hyperventilate, and the floor spin, all it does is make the narrow hallway's walls seem like they're getting close and closer and like they're going to swallow me up.

It's a picture of Blaine, smiling. Strong, confident, happy. A word is spelt out over the glossy photo.

_Courage_.

* * *

_Holding hands, we ran across the Dalton halls towards the commons. When we arrived, it was already crowded._

_"Oh, I stick out like a sore thumb," Kurt remarked, gazing nervously at the other boys, who were all wearing the Dalton uniform._

_"Well, next time don't forget your jacket, New Kid," I said, fixing up his jacket's collar, even though it was already perfect. "You'll fit right in."_

_In response to the wink I then gave him, Kurt smiled shyly._

_The Warblers began to sing._

_"Now, if you'll excuse me."_

* * *

A/N: On a scale of 'totally awesome' to 'supermegafoxyawesomehot,' how epic is Klaine?

I lovelovelove Klaine. Klaine just gives me this feeling that I can't really explain, but it's full of happiness and hope and a bunch of other gushy adjectives. And Kurt and Blaine deserve each other.

If you're feeling nice, leave me a review? :)

P.S. Does anyone know what those light-bowl-things are actually called?


	2. Worthless

_Chapter published: 04/04/11_

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed/favourited/subscribed. You make my day! :D

**NOTE:** To the people who read the first chapter when I first posted it, I've changed it. Mostly it's the same but I've added some stuff in, so I suggest you go back and read it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

* * *

**COURAGE, CHAPTER 2: WORTHLESS**

* * *

Imma get your heart racing in my skin-tight jeans

Be your teenage dream tonight

_Kurt smiled. It was that beautiful smile of his that just says "I'm happy," where he doesn't even care what he looks like. He let his teeth show and his nose crinkle and his beautiful glasz eyes just _shine.

_And, at that moment, I swore that I was going to make Kurt happy._

Let you put your hands on me in my skin-tight jeans

Be your teenage dream tonight

* * *

**[Kurt]**

I must have picked myself up off the cold hallway tiles. I must have walked out of the hospital and into the adjoining car park. I must have driven the short distance back to Dalton.

I don't remember any of it. But it must've happened, because I'm standing in my boarding house's car park.

I was so unsupportive to Blaine. It's not his fault that he lost his memory. It's not his fault that we were in an accident that resulted in him being in a coma for two weeks and four days.

Not his fault.

My fault.

Thinking about him brings the sting back into my eyes and evokes a horrible pain in my chest, so I push the thoughts away.

At Dalton, there are two boarding houses: Rutherford, and my house, Glenn. After what seems like a very long time, of walking, I stop in front of Glenn, the majestic door towering over me. There's a knocker mounted on a silver eagle in the middle of the door, covered in cobwebs from disuse. I turn the door knob and go in.

There are a couple of guys hanging around in the foyer. I give them a brief wave and run across the smooth marble floor towards the stairs. Gripping the polished mahogany banister tightly, I climb up the stairs two at a time.

Thankfully, the first floor's hallway is empty. I walk down the hallway slowly, automatically pausing when I reach the third door on the left. My fingers skim over the golden plaque nailed to the door and my eyes start to blur with tears and there's this wave of nausea when I read it.

_2E—Blaine Anderson & James Rayne_

My hands are suddenly clasped onto the doorknob of the next room down, my room, and I'm wrenching the door open and collapsing on a heap on the floor. The door closes behind me with a bang.

My fingers automatically reach over to my left pocket and trace the contours of the picture. Numbly, I realise that my face is wet from tears and that my fingers are stiff from the cold and that my stomach's growling for food, but I can't bring myself to get up.

I don't know how long I lie there for. But after a while, I begin to think about my mum. She would know what to do. She would pick me up and sing to me and hold me and tell me everything's going to be okay. And I'd believe it.

_But she's gone_, I tell myself for the millionth time since she died. She isn't ever coming back.

I can't lose Blaine, too. I have to help him recover. Because he saved me, and now it's my turn to save him.

* * *

_Later, Kurt told me about the bullying that he had to face at McKinley._

_I told him about courage._

* * *

**[Blaine]**

_I am Blaine Anderson. I am sixteen years old, turning seventeen. I'm a junior at Dalton Academy._

I turn the thoughts over in my head._ After Kurt leaves, some of the memories begin to trickle back in. I think about my childhood, where I was spoiled, but also neglected, by my parents. I keep thinking about this castle of a school which I think is called Dalton. And my thoughts somehow always lead back to Kurt._

Trying to remember this stuff gives me that feeling you get when you know something, like a word, and it's on the tip of your tongue but you just can't remember.

It's frustrating.

It's there, you know it's there, but you don't know where to look to find it.

* * *

_I was sitting in a couch in the Warblers' choir room. All eyes were on Kurt, his beautiful voice washing over us. His voice was sweet and pure and gentle, but also loud and stong._

_ He looked out the window, light spilling onto his face._

Couldn't stay all my life down at heel

Looking out of the window, staying out of the sun

So I chose freedom

Running around, trying everything new

But nothing impressed me at all

I never expected it to...

* * *

**[Blaine]**

"BLAINE!"

I look up and see three people at the doorway. Wes, David, and a nurse, who's giving the former a scathing look. "No need to shout, young man," she scolds. "I'm afraid if you're not quiet, I will need to ask you to leave."

"Sorry, ma'am," apologises Wes stiffly.

The nurse huffs, clearly irritated, and leaves the room.

Once she's out of sight, they come closer. "Blaine!" David shouts in a whisper.

I roll my eyes.

Some people never change, do they?

"We missed you!" Wes whines.

"It wasn't the same without you!"

"In fact, it was drastically different," Wes adds.

"We had to go down and _make our own toast in the morning."_

"And Warblers' practise didn't go very well."

"You can probably imagine how hard dealing with Wes was because of that."

"Hey!"

"It's true!"

"When will you be coming back?"

"Good to see you, too," I laugh, smiling at them affectionately. For some reason, I can remember everything about them. It's like nothing's changed. "And I don't know; the hospital says they need to assess the damage done to my brain. So probably at least a week."

They suddenly adopted concerned expressions.

"Well, are you okay?" asks Wes. "Kurt told us about your memory. You know you can ask us anything, right?"

"I'm alright," I say slowly. "I do have one question, though."

An inquisitive eyebrow is raised.

"Who is Kurt?"

The atmosphere becomes tense. Wes and David fidget uncomfortably and share an awkward glance. After much deliberation, the latter speaks up.

"Kurt was your boyfriend."

* * *

_Courage— the ability to do something that frightens one; strength in the face of pain or grief._

_I searched up the definition as soon as I got back to my dorm. _

_I can pretend, but I still don't really know what the word means._

* * *

Kurt is singing.

It's the carefree voice of someone singing idly to himself. I can tell it's the same song he was humming when I woke up, but his voice is so soft, I can't hear the lyrics properly.

I open my eyes and just look at him. His head is bowed, lips barely moving and eyes slightly red. The sound of his voice makes me think. His voice is so raw and familiar and I feel like I've heard it a million times before, but the only memory I can think of was the first time I heard him sing. _Don't Cry for Me Argentina._

"Kurt?" I say.

His head snaps up and looks me in the eyes, his cheeks immediately colouring. "I didn't know you were awake."

I smile. "Your voice. It's incredible."

His flush intensifies even more, but he smiles, that same dazzling smile he gave me when I woke up from the coma.

"I've missed you, Blaine," he says earnestly, eyes twinkling but looking a little sad. He clears his throat. "Anyway, I came because I wanted to give you this. I didn't really want to wake you up before."

He holds out a small device. I see my face reflected on the screen.

"Your iPod," he says. "So, you know. You can listen to music."

I cradle the iPod gingerly in my hands. "Thanks," is all I can say.

* * *

Dalton Academy is a boy's school in Westerville, Ohio. It's less than half an hour from my house in the car. I'm in the glee club, the Warblers. Kurt, Wes and David go to Dalton. I go to Dalton.

That's all I know about Dalton Academy. And yet I'm returning today.

"This is it, honey," my mother announces. "Dalton."

I look out the window.

This is Dalton Academy.

It's a freaking _castle_.

And as we drive on, around the back of the school towards the front gates, I begin to think.

And I begin to remember.

I think about the lush, spacious school grounds, the old trees that surround the main building. I think about the posh interiors and my boarding house, Glenn. I think about the various buildings scattered across campus and the creek that runs across the school.

The car drives comfortably, past the school gates and into the car park. My watch says it's 7:50, which means that I have 20 minutes until school starts.

The car stops. "Bye, Blaine. Have a nice day."

"Bye, Mum," I reply heavily.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, exit the car and enter the school's main building. The rooms are lofty, high-ceilinged and richly decorated. There's no one in the foyer. I take a left and enter the office.

"Good morning," I say to a severe-looking receptionist. "I'm Bl—"

"Ah, Blaine Anderson?" she interrupts.

I nod.

"Yes, your mother called me yesterday. Your teachers have all been informed of your condition."

I frown. My _condition_?

"I have also printed out another copy of your timetable," she adds primly, handing a sheet of paper over the counter. "Mr Fletcher—your house, Glenn's, coordinator—is aware that you will be returning to the boarding house tomorrow."

I nod.

"Do you have any questions?" she inquires, giving me a sharp look, as though she's daring me to ask her something.

"No, ma'am. Thank you. Goodbye."

After leaving the room, I consult my timetable. First I have home form, followed by Literature with a teacher called Mrs Ansalde.

"Blaine?"

I look up to see two faces staring at me.

"Hi, Kurt," I say. I look over at the tall boy with brown curls standing next to him.

It's a weird feeling. Looking at someone, _knowing_ that I know him, but not being able to remember a thing. It makes me feel stupid and worthless and empty and blank and I get that frustrated feeling again and it just makes my head ache.

"It's okay, Blaine," Kurt assures me quietly, bringing me out of my head.

For a moment, the curly-haired boy looks absolutely devastated. But he covers it up with a composed smile so quickly, I think I might have imagined it.

"I understand. I'm Robin."

"Robin," I repeat. The name sounds right.

Before any of us can say any more, two people burst through the front door.

"God, why'd you guys walk so fast?" pants Wes, shaking his head.

"Yeah," adds David. "Mr Fletcher wasn't even—" Wes and David's eyes both widen as they see me.

"BLAINE!" they yell in unison, causing Robin, Kurt and me to all roll our eyes in spite of the situation.

"Why didn't you tell us you were coming back?"

It's hard to respond, since I'm now being crushed by two people, caught in the middle of a massive Blaine sandwich.

"When are you moving back to Glenn?"

"I'm moving back tomorrow," I manage to gasp out.

They grin. "Welcome back, Warbler-Blaine."

* * *

I realise that I spent all my time at the hospital and home worrying what it'd be like to face the people here again. I didn't give a second thought to what the classes would be like.

_Hard_ is a_ pathetic_ understatement.

I'm going to need to learn everything that I've missed in the past three weeks, which, surprisingly is _a lot. In my absence, they've covered whole topics in some of my subjects. As the day wears on, I find that I can mostly remember the work that I did in class, but I've forgotten a lot of little basic things, like how to conjugate the verbs __avoir and __être in French and the formula for pi or how to solve algebraic equations in Maths._

The last class of the day finishes late, and Kurt's waiting for me outside my classroom. "Hi, Kurt."

"Hi. How was your first day of school?"

I sigh. "Difficult," I admit.

"The first day's the hardest." He smiles. "That's what you told me on my first day."

_I have no idea what you're talking about. "Oh."_

We fill what would have been silence with talk. We chat about superficial things; what teachers we like and dislike, our favourite subjects, why the geography teacher, Mr Wright, always wears red ties and a beret. He doesn't ask if I'm okay; he doesn't tell me that it'll be alright in the end or reassure me things that I wouldn't believe.

It's nice, because it gets my mind off other things.

"Your shoelaces are untied," he says awkwardly as we reach the first flight of stairs. Another sad, nostalgic smile. "You used to practically kill anyone who didn't have their shoelaces done up."

I glance down at my ridiculously shiny black shoes that I polish every night. The laces on the left shoe dangle around uselessly.

"Right," I say, bending over and grasping the laces.

And as I'm holding the laces, I realise that I don't know what to do. And for one painful moment, the only things that exist in the world are my shoelaces and me and there's this haze in my brain and my heartbeat hitches up a notch and suddenly, I'm on the verge of tears.

I'm worthless.

Because I'm trying to remember.

But I can't.

I can't do it.

Something gentle and soft touches my hands and, with a shock, I realise that they're Kurt's hands and they're holding mine and twisting the shoelaces into a knot.

"This isn't the normal way of tying shoelaces," he says. "But it's faster than what most people do. Actually, you taught me it."

I take a deep breath to calm myself. "Show me again."

He complies, undoing the shoelaces, taking one end in each hand, doing a funny twist and pulling it into a knot.

"Your turn," he orders.

I clutch both ends of the string and try to replicate what he did. It doesn't work.

I breathe out slowly. Pull the string tight. Grip the laces with three fingers and hook my thumb and forefinger underneath. But when I pull it through, it just becomes undone.

"Here," Kurt says, taking my hands again and guiding me through it.

It shouldn't take this long for me to learn to tie my shoelaces. I don't get it the third time. Or the fourth. But after six more attempts and many stares from passing students, I finally tug the black laces into a floppy knot. I look up at Kurt. "Thanks."

He smiles tightly, studying my face closely. "Are you okay? You know that it can only get better from here, right, Blaine?"

I guess it's true. But I want to tell him that it's hard and frustrating and it's only been a few days, but sometimes I feel like giving up. I try to remember things, but sometimes, I just can't. I feel so _stupid and __worthless._

But when I open my mouth, all I say is, "I'm fine."

* * *

_Kurt is different from anyone I've ever met._

_No one's perfect. Sometimes he's snarky, overconfident, and acts like he's superior to everyone else. But he's also loyal, honest, witty, smart, moral, and stands up for what he believes in. He's full of courage._

_That's what makes him amazing._

* * *

**[Blaine]**

When I finally walk down to the car park, my mum's already waiting for me. "How was your day, honey?" she asks when I climb into the passenger seat.

"Good."

The rest of the drive back home passes in silence.

* * *

My dad never forgave me for being gay, and I don't think he ever will. He longs for a respectable, _straight_ son who he'd be proud to see carry on the family name. When he looks at me, he just sees a disappointment.

My mum is a different story. She loved me. She still does. I used to love her, but when I needed someone, she wasn't there. She wasn't there to tell me that there was nothing wrong with being different—she said quite the opposite. My dad never loved me, but my mum always has. She realised that I'm her only child and that she can't lose me.

But when she realised it, when she wanted me back, it was too late. The bullying was over; I was safe at Dalton. There were other people who cared about me. I don't need her anymore.

* * *

When I step into the beautiful, warm building the next morning, I can't help but smile.

Dalton's more of a home to me than my house ever will be.

* * *

A/N: I AM SO SORRY ABOUT THE LATENESS OF THIS CHAPTER.

I actually have some reasons as to why it's so late, but nobody wants to hear them so I'll just apologise profusely.

(Sorry.)

Unfortunately, I can't guarantee that the next update will be faster, but I'll try.

By the way, any ideas for this story would be very much appreciated. I've got a basic outline of the story in mind and a few ideas, but any input is adored. _Adored_.

Also, the shoelace knot in this? My friend taught me it. It's awesome. I call it Awesome Knot. (Creative, I know.) Sorry; the description wasn't very good, though.

**YOU'RE ALL AMAZING!** (Just the way you are!) :D

P.S LISTEN TO GLEE'S VERSION OF _SOMEWHERE ONLY WE KNOW, _IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY.

OH MY GOD.

IT'S BEAUTIFUL.

I GOT TEARS IN MY EYES.

SONGS NEVER MAKE ME CRY.

BUT IT'S SO FREAKING BEAUTIFUL.

*turns off caps lock*

(I cannot wait for the episode it will be in to be aired.)


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